So I Nursed Him Every 45 Minutes

By Elizabeth N. Baldwin, Esq.

and

by Kenneth A. Friedman, Esq.

I nursed my first child every
45 minutes--big deal. Boy, was it! I never expected a child of mine to
be so demanding. He had to nurse every 45 minutes or else ... else he'd
scream till the end of time. Or so I thought; I never found out. After
all, if I let him nurse every 45 minutes, he was in seventh heaven, so
who was I to complain?

Hmmm ... complain. What about
all those baby books bedecked with lovely charts and graphs of when
babies sleep, eat, and have alert periods? Reading them as a pregnant
lawyer, I was sure I could fit my work into the designated "sleep"
intervals. The books never mentioned a baby who wanted to nurse every
45 minutes, then sleep blissfully in mother's arms.

Was this my fault? Wasn't
the fact that my son slept through the night a sign that I was doing
something right? Ha! He only slept through the night until I wrote it
down in my journal. Then he began walking every two hours! Now, I'm
not a superstitious person, yet I must confess that I promptly crossed
out that entry and wrote that he did not sleep through the night. It
didn't work; he still woke up every two hours to nurse.

Oh, help, I thought, am I
causing him to wake up so often? Tempting him with the equivalent of
hot chocolate chip cookies in the middle of the night? Should I be depriving
him to encourage some compliance with proper schedules? Letting him
suffer so he will fall into the norm described in all those books?

Discoveries

Luckily, for my son's sake,
I trusted those darn instincts I didn't think I had, and I let him just
nurse and nap in my arms whenever he wanted to by day, and nurse and
sleep beside me whenever he wanted to at night. Those instincts, however,
were not easy to distinguish from messages I had carried since childhood.
These were ingrained so deeply that they felt like instincts, yet they
were really more like old tapes running over and over, criticizing,
judging, and blaming at every provocation. My instincts told me to keep
my thoughts to myself. And I learned to do just that, and to let my
instincts guide me.

My instincts told me that
my precious little baby needed to nurse whenever he wanted to. After
all, he had spent nine months inside me, and I was all he knew. Whenever
I looked at the peaceful, happy expression on his face as he nursed,
I could imagine him feeling as though he were back in the womb--hearing
my heart beating, my stomach gurgling, the sound of my breathing, and
feeling attached to me! Yes, my instincts told me that if he was happy
in my arms, then that is where he needed to be.

After I figured out what
my instincts were, I came upon a greater challenge: learning to trust
them. How hard this was amid the advice I was getting from family and
friends, even from hospital staff and doctors. "That baby couldn't
be hungry again--you must not have enough milk!" I was told, and
"Maybe he wouldn't be so needy if you'd go longer between feedings."
Nearly all their counsel went against my instincts, and suggested that
I was doing something wrong.

Why, I wondered, does society
push mothers to ignore their instincts?(1) Why,
when developmental researchers emphasize how important it is to be responsive
to our babies,(2) are mothers still encouraged
to disregard the instincts that help them respond? Is it because we
as human beings are programmed to repeat what was done to us?(3)
Were the "reasons" I was given by family, friends, and professionals
mere justifications for the lack of responsive nurturing they received?

Well-meaning folks told me
that I was harming my baby by nursing him whenever he wanted, especially
since he nursed so often. As a matter of fact, my baby's doctor said
that frequent nursing was causing him to be colicky, and that if I would
only wait three or four hours and give water between feedings, he would
calm down and be a happier baby.

I, meantime, was coming upon
discoveries of my own. I learned that breastmilk is digested in two
hours, not three or four like formula.(4) I learned
that many babies want to nurse more frequently than every two hours,(5)
and that babies who nurse a lot tend to get plenty of milk because their
mothers' milk supplies have been boosted by the frequent nursing.(6)
Research now shows that restricting the amount of time at the breast
and extending the time between feedings can reduce not only a mother's
milk supply, but also the fat content of her milk(7)--resulting
in a hungry, crying baby.(8)

Sadly, I also learned that
babies who are nursed at four-hour intervals may fail to thrive. One
infant, who had been breastfed for 15 minutes on each breast only six
or seven times a day, cut back on her nursing and died of starvation
a few days later. Her parents were convicted of manslaughter. Fortunately,
the conviction was reversed because these parents had no idea they were
doing anything wrong.(9) They were simply following
the recommendations of a culture that knows little about breastfed babies.

My baby, I concluded, knows
what he is up to. He knows what he needs, when he needs it, and how
to get it. Any arbitrary decision on my part--even when to switch sides--seemed
counterproductive. How could I possibly know what his body needed? Indeed,
as I later learned, breastfed babies regulate themselves; they take
what they need, not just at each feeding, but from each breast.(10)
Moreover, many breastfeeding problems--including those attributed to
"too much milk" or "not enough milk"--are resolved
with more frequent nursing.(11) So I continued
to follow my baby's cues. And I soon found out that his "colic"
was directly related to my hidden food allergies and overconsumption
of dairy products.(12)

A well-meaning friend suggested
that I was depriving my baby of a good night's sleep, and that I "owe
it to him" to teach him to sleep alone through the night. Now,
by my calculations, sleeping beside him was depriving him of far less
sleep than he would have lost had he been left to cry his eyes out only
to realize that I was not there for him. Little did I know that our
nighttime rituals were decreasing his susceptibility to SIDS (Sudden
Infant Death Syndrome),(13) and were exactly what
his developing system expected.(14) What I did
know was that mothers have slept with their babies since time began.
How could something that felt so natural to a mother be bad for her
child?

Relatives said that I was
teaching my baby to cry. "If you go to them every time they cry,"
said one, "they'll learn that is the only way to get you to come,
and you'll be manipulated." Right off, this made very little sense
to me. If in fact my baby is crying to get me to come, I reasoned, then
isn't that what crying is for? Besides, my son has already learned that
he does not have to cry to evoke a response; he only has to go, "Eh,
eh," and I will be there in a flash, or awake in an instant. While
I knew that my baby had learned to communicate nonverbally through cues
and, in times of upset, through tears, I did not yet know that as a
toddler he would be asking for things rather than yelling for them.

Weeks Later

The accusations continued.
My father-in-law banned us from his house for three months because I
had been jumping up too often during dinner to take care of my little
one. He said that my son was learning zero about delayed gratification,
becoming too dependent on me, and likely to grow up a "mama's boy"
tied to my apron strings. Yet, my instincts told me that he was too
young to learn delayed gratification, and that if I met his dependency
needs now, he would blossom into independence all on his own.

Relieved to find expert opinions
that validated my instincts,(15) I concluded that
my son was dependent on me because he was supposed to be. Only a caring,
predictable environment could help him experience the world as a warm,
loving place. The notion of pushing children into independence, I found,
stemmed from an age-old belief that babies are born wicked and a parent's
job is to break their will and turn them into well-behaved children.
I, on the other hand, believe that babies are born precious and learn
to behave by the ways in which they are treated.

Several critics cast doubt
on my own well-being. Some said that remaining constantly available
to my son would make me nervous and anxious, and would stop my milk
from letting down. Others suggested that if I didn't allow someone else
to take care of my baby from time to time, I would get stressed out
or depressed, which would "mess up" my hormones. Yet, for
me, depression would result from not responding the way my "hormones"
were telling me to; it seemed as though nature was screaming at me to
listen to my baby. I felt much less stress as soon as I realized that
it was OK for him to be needy, and OK for me to be responsive. If anything
was making me anxious and nervous, it was their words. Being responsive
felt right--more right than anything I had ever done in my life.

And yes, I was even accused
of being a martyr, of suffering for my child. This one amused me as
I watched nonnursing friends sterilizing bottles, preparing formula,
carting around small kitchens in their diaper bags, and treating constipation,
diarrhea, and other common side effects of formula. On the flip side,
I was accused of taking the easy way out, as if something so effortless
for a mother could not be good for her child! The insinuation was that
because my son fell asleep at the breast in 30 seconds, I was breastfeeding
because I was lazy.

Many people suggested that
I was depriving my husband of an involved role in childrearing. Admittedly,
I was indispensable to our son, and hardly able to leave for the bathroom
if he was hungry or upset. However, when all was going well, he loved
being with Daddy. He enjoyed lying on Daddy's chest, exploring the cabinets
while perched in his arms, going for backpack walks and drives past
the transmission towers, all the while assured that Daddy would bring
him back in a flash if he needed me. As he grew, his relationship with
Daddy grew. Shrieks of delight that greeted his return from work evolved
into requests for so many things, including his presence at bedtime.
(Daddy told better space stories than Mommy!) Surely, one reason they
became so close was because their relationship was rooted in a secure
mother-infant base.

I did not know all this at
the time, of course. Nursing every 45 minutes leaves a mother with little
opportunity to evaluate her methods, much less defend herself against
criticism. That came later.

Realizations

In due course, I realized
that if I did not respond immediately to my son's cries for my attention,
he would not cry his little head off forever. No, he would eventually
give up, convinced that communication is not effective. He would sense
that he has no rights, and no idea of what is good for him. He would
conclude that he should not be hungry when his body tells him he is,
and that he is wrong to feel what he feels.

I also realized that our
society has little understanding of newborns, and does not sanction
compassion for their needs or feelings. Demand nursing, as I saw it,
was no different from caring for a family member who has been rendered
powerless. Would we refuse an incapacitated father a meal because it
was "not time"? Or leave a paralyzed spouse alone in a room
to "cry it out"--checking in every 10 minutes to say, "It's
Ok"--without trying to find out what is wrong and doing something
about it? If he or she only wanted to be held, would we refuse, for
fear of spoiling someone we love? How can anyone claim that legal or
religious tenets require us to deny babies sustenance and comfort "in
their best interests"?

Even the medical profession
has been insensitive to the suffering of babies. Until recently, many
doctors thought it unnecessary to give infants pain medication for surgery;
only paralyzing agents were given, to keep them from moving. The belief
was that babies do not feel pain.(16)

Surely someday, our society
will recognize that babies are people--with rights, feelings, and most
importantly, needs. At that point, communities will advocate for these
needs, with the knowledge that nursing-on-demand mothers are not spoiling
their little ones, creating bad habits, letting their babies dictate
their every move, or getting wrapped around little fingers, but rather
doing exactly what nature intended. Mothers are designed to be available
to their babies--to help them make the transition into this big, wide
world. To teach them to trust, and love, and feel good about being alive.

Until then, I decided, a
mother has one of two paths to travel. She can adhere to the advice
of others, and give her child this message: "Suffer, kid, I've
got more important things to do, and I don't care that you can't satisfy
your hunger (thirst, desire for contact)--I've got a life, you know."
Or she can listen to her instincts, and convey an altogether different
message: "I am here to let you know that your needs can be safely
met."

As for me, I continued to
listen to my instincts. I let the dishes, work, and social times slide,
knowing that they would always be there whereas my baby would not. I
let the nights go by with varying amounts of sleep, and the days roll
on with little sense of accomplishment. And looking back, I want to
shout with joy that I did. My precious infant who nursed every 45 minutes
grew and grew--into an independent, happy, intelligent, and confident
nine year old with compassion in his heart and affection in his acts.

Notes

(1) Cultural offshoots of
the factory model of breastfeeding may be one of the reasons the medical
profession has encouraged scheduled feedings. In the first decades of
this century, people new to factory work had difficulty obeying the
strict schedules required of them; the literature emphasized that teaching
infants a schedule would help them become responsible adults, and ultimately
good factory workers. Other factors contributing to scheduled feedings
may be the extension of professional advice into family matters, the
changeover in birth and breastfeeding management from lay midwives to
physicians, a general mistrust of women's body signals (such as the
let-down reflex as an indicator for nursing), and a mistrust of infants'
signals. See A. V. Millard, "The Place of the Clock in Pediatric
Advice: Rationales, Cultural Themes, and impediments to Breastfeeding,"
Soc Sci Med 31, no. 2 (1990): 211-221, which suggests that breastfeeding
problems in the United States are culture-specific, and are a result
of pediatric breastfeeding regimens.

(2) Mothers of securely attached
children--who do better later in life--are more responsive to the feeding
signals and crying of their infants, and more likely to return their
babies' smiles. M. D. S. Ainsworth and S. M. Bell, "Attachment,
Exploration, and Separation: Illustrated by the Behavior of One-Year
Olds in a Strange Situation," Child Development 41 (1970): 49-67.

(8) See Note 1. Millard points
out that 20th-century breastfeeding schedules have created hunger as
a result of long intervals between feedings. This hunger has been erroneously
attributed to an insufficient milk supply--the predominant reason given
by women for switching from breast- to bottle-feeding.

Elizabeth N. Baldwin was an attorney and
family mediator in private practice with
her husband, Kenneth A. Friedman, in Miami, Florida. She died in March 2003 after an extended
illness. Her family law practice primarily focused on protecting young, securely attached and
breastfed babies in divorce cases. Elizabeth was also a La Leche League Leader, and a member
of LLLI's Professional Advisory Board, Legal Advisory Council. She published numerous articles
on breastfeeding and the law, and often spoke at conferences. She assisted hundreds of parents
involved in breastfeeding legal cases, and provided information and help to parents, attorneys
and other professionals dealing with these issues.

One
Father's Perspective on Demand Nursing

By Kenneth A. Friedman,
JD

I wanted only the best for
my child. Yet then, as now, the issue seemed to be: who will control?

It didn't make any difference
to me whether or every 45 days. It wasn't I who had to be available
constantly, day and night. In the morning before leaving for work, I
would set my wife and child up for "nursing and napping" in
the rocking chair. I'd put the phone, books, notebooks, a glass of juice,
clean diapers, and other necessities within reach. At night, I was useless,
and soon learned not even to wake up.

The pressure to control my
child, however, was dramatic. Friends, acquaintances, relatives, and
even people I didn't know required that our baby be controlled. The
implication was that if we did not regulate his demands on our time
and energy, he might grow up to be spoiled rotten or become a second
Hitler.

For fathers, the control
issue is particularly difficult. Most of us were trained to exercise
self-restraint at every opportunity. As boys and young men, we were
told to be tough because it is a cruel world out there. Similarly, as
fathers, we feel charged with the duty of making sure life is not too
easy for our offspring so that they can learn self-control, responsibility,
and determination. Combined, these factors can easily prevail over a
father's desire to support demand nursing, a practice that allows an
infant to control the process. After all, we would never let an infant
take charge of our armies and weapons of war, our diplomatic endeavors,
or anything else in life.

Not surprisingly, as my wife
nursed our firstborn on demand, I experienced this pressure to conform
our childrearing methods to some prescribed standard. The hardest part
was that I found little support for our efforts to do what we thought
was best for our child. Even my most "liberal" friends felt
compelled to direct their relationships with their children, rather
than let their children guide the way.

While my wife nursed our
second child on demand, I continued to struggle against the impulse
to control my offspring, not always successfully. Many times I longed
for someone to tell me that we were doing the right thing, that my kids
would not grow up to be "sissies."

As our children moved out
of diapers and away from the breast, I slowly realized that the control
issue extends beyond infancy and breastfeeding. Observing them closely,
I questioned the social norm of imposing rigid restraints until I became
convinced that controlling my children was not in their best interest.
I could see with my own eyes that they were not "spoiled rotten"
brats and certainly not sissies. I did not need to manipulate them,
or mold them into perfect human beings; they already were perfect human
beings, each with a unique set of feelings and needs to be respected.
Nor did I need to impose suffering on my children "for their own
good" in order to feel like a good parent.(1)

Now my children are older,
and my perspective has broadened. Taking an honest look at a world rife
with violence, hatred, and suffering, I cannot help but question the
common practice of imposing discipline on children to toughen them for
the cruel world. Could there be a fundamental error in this type of
thinking? Might the methods used to control our children be an essential
part of the problem? I wonder if Saddam Hussein's mother engaged in
demand nursing . . . I wonder if career criminals or residents of death
row got to nurse on demand...

Notes

(1) The proposition that
misguided childrearing produces violent, unhappy and suffering children
is addressed eloquently in Alice Miller's book For Your Own Good:
Hidden Cruelty in Child-Rearing and the Roots of Violence, 2nd ed.,
trans. by Hildegarde and Hunter Hannum (New York: Farrar, Straus &
Giroux, 1984).

These articles
originally appeared in Mothering
Magazine in 1995. We thank them for allowing us to reprint them.